


If We're Burning Like Two Candles

by Snow



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, Way Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow/pseuds/Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set pre-canon, with Shaun and George switching from their public school to the private one.  As always, their Mom is milking the media attention for all it's worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We're Burning Like Two Candles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coltsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coltsbane/gifts).



> Betaed by the lovely iBear.

"Shaun, come _on_." Shaun isn't listening to me, _again_ , has said that he won't start listening to me again until I'm taller than him. It could be years until that happens. He's never going to last years not listening to me, he'll probably end up drowning in the bath, or something. "Mom said we had to be ready to go five minutes ago."

"In a second, George."

"Well, I'm going downstairs now. You can explain to Mom and Dad why you're late."

"I said in a second." Shaun is pouting at me for a second, while he stuffs his notebook into his Alex Force backpack. Then he races down the stairs, leaving me to look like the late one. Great.

"Hurry up, Georgia," Mom calls while I slip my shoes on. They're not my usual shoes, but I think they're supposed to match my dress better. I don't want to wear a dress, _Shaun_ doesn't have to wear a dress, but Mom insisted. She looks me over. "Ready?"

I nod while I try to stifle a yawn.

"Good." Then she's opening the front door, a second after the journalist outside rings the doorbell. I can hear the smile in her voice. "Please, come in. Can I get you some coffee? The kids were just headed out the door with their father."

I peek around the corner so I can see the journalist. He looks like most journalists that aren't Mom or Dad look: boring.

"I was hoping to have a chance to talk to your children before they went, actually," he says. "Ask them how they feel about transferring schools."

Shaun pulls me back. "We should hide before he gets to us."

I frown at him. "You promised Mom you'd do the interview. She's _bribing_ you to behave."

He shrugs and looks at me with his best puppy dog eyes. I've seen him pull them out on a second's notice for use on Mom and Dad, which means they shouldn't work on me anymore. They still do. "You don't want to find out if we even can hide anywhere where they won't find us right away?"

"Probably somewhere covered in dust, and I'll ruin my new dress," I tell him.

"And I'll ruin my nice new backpack, but that's okay, because you don't like dresses, and I've never seen an episode of Alex Force in my life."

I think it's probably for the best that even though he managed to convince me - maybe without much difficulty, it's not like I _like_ giving interviews - we don't make it out of the kitchen before Mom comes in with the interviewer.

"Just a couple of minutes," she's telling him. "They do have school, and it wouldn't do for them to be late on the first day."

"Of course," the interviewer says, before turning to us with that mocking attempt at seriousness most adults have. "Aren't you two just _precious_?" he croons.

"Yes sir," Shaun replies, with a charm I know I could never pull off.

The interviewer chuckles. "You can call me Mark. I'm a friend of your parents, there's no need to stand on formality. I just wanted to ask you and your sister a couple of question about switching schools."

Shaun smiles cheerfully and seats himself at the table. "Okay."

"Did you have many friends at your old school?"

I'm glad Shaun is answering this question, Mom doesn't like it when I tell the journalists no. He doesn't have to, because his definition of friend is different from mine. "Yeah. But I'm sure I'll have friends at my new school. Besides, my most important friend is my sister."

I shake my head at him, because the interviewer isn't looking at me, and because my sunglasses make eye-rolling ineffective. Shaun blinks innocently back.

'Mark' turns to me. "And do you agree with your parents that expecting children to undergo three daily blood tests for the privilege of receiving a public education is a step too far, taking away the intrinsic innocence of children?" It's clear from his smug smile that he's not expecting me to be able to follow him.

"I can't speak on the intrinsic innocence of children, but basically, yes," I say. "If the schools are so concerned about the risks of amplification happening within the school, then they should minimize those risks, rather than putting in measures that make everyone feel better but don't do anything." Mom is still nodding at me, prodding me a little further, so I scan my brain for what else I could say. "Otherwise that's just going to make everyone more scared for no benefit." Mom smiles at me, pleased.

"And are you scared to go to school?" the interviewer asks.

"The new one?" I ask. "Of course. I don't know any of the students, and they might have been learning different things. I'll be behind in some areas and ahead in others."

He smiles indulgently. "I don't think you'll be behind in anything."

I nod then. "Fine. _Shaun_ will be behind."

"Hey!" Shaun says.

"The point is," I continue after sending a smirk at Shaun while Mom shakes her head at me, "That I think it would be scary to continue at the old school too, and at least the fear at the new school is something that we can get through."

"It's a normal fear," Mom adds. "The same kind of fear that children had Pre-Rising."

"Are you afraid, Shaun?" the interviewer asks.

Shaun grins, all boy-confidence. "Of meeting new people? No way. Of zombies?" He pauses, building the expectation. "Hell no. Zombies are _cool_."

Mom waits a couple of seconds before muttering. "Shaun! Language."

"Sorry Mom." I'm sure even the interviewer can tell Shaun isn't actually sorry, but he's eleven, and that's expected.

"I'm afraid I have to wrap things up now," Mom tells the interviewer. "They really should be on their way to school."

"Of course, Mrs. Mason. Shaun, Georgia, good luck at school."

Shaun nods and grabs my hand. "Thank you sir." And then he's tugging me towards the garage, and our father, leaving Mom to answer the rest of the questions. Shaun and I have bigger issues to face.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome and appreciate comments, including constructive criticism.


End file.
